


Roadside

by LaughableLament



Series: Supernatural NaPoWriMo 2020 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, National Poetry Writing Month, Poem Collection, Poetry, Wincest - Freeform, gencest, more tags tba
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: I'm tackling NaPoWriMo! Thirty poems, thirty days, and usually a slow spiral into madness. I'll try to keep up with vital tags/warnings, but please do check the notes at the beginning of each chapter.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Supernatural NaPoWriMo 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725004
Comments: 117
Kudos: 17





	1. Roadside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: M (so far)  
> Pairing: Sam/Dean  
> Prompt: Something Wicked (S1e18)

Sam side-eyed his brother’s taut jaw. Clenching  
rippled clear down Dean’s arm; knuckles  
gripped pale on the wheel. Zeppelin, loud.

Bone-cold, Sam’s fingers tingled. Phantom  
echo, shtriga breath. Dean glanced, threw  
a gut-punch smirk and Sam rasped,

_pull this fucking car over_

Big eyes. Spinning steering wheel and  
bumping, crunching gravel. Golden  
rural morning quiet. Dean asked,

_everything okay_

and Sam said,

_kiss me_

Dean fish-faced.

Sam took his brother’s hand. Pressed Dean’s  
palm to his cheek. Warm-wet and  
rough, and Dean dusted a thumb  
across Sam’s lips. Sam kissed. Watched  
the want and terror war.

_you gave me everything_

Sam said.

_let me_

And he sucked Dean’s thumb inside  
his mouth and Dean’s head fell back,  
chest hitched, hips rolled. Sam flicked the  
pad, dug in the knuckle and  
licked around. Bobbing, sucking.  
Dean chewed on his lip and groaned  
and Sam slid closer, hand on  
Dean’s knee. Dean snapped to, eyes flicked  
from Sam’s lips to Sam’s hand and  
Sam squeezed, inched up Dean’s inseam.

_kiss me_

Sam said again, against Dean’s thumb. Dean heaved,

_sammy_

Crashing lips. Cheap aftershave. Brusque  
stubble and coffee-to-go. Sharp teeth.

Sam groped Dean’s thigh, gripped him  
through his fly and Dean moaned,  
pained. Strained at his zipper.  
Sam put an arm around,  
towed him closer, feathered  
over Dean’s belt buckle.

_can i_

Dean stared. Stunned. Leather eased  
through metal; Dean breathed  
shallow. Sam slow-opened  
his jeans, fondled boxer  
cotton. Kissed under his  
ear. Worming, inside Dean’s  
waistband and Dean bucked, pulsed  
against Sam’s fingers. Scalding.  
Turned his face away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~to be continued?~


	2. Going to California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Gen, pre-series (barely)  
> Prompt: Behind the wheel

Snackin on tacos,  
steering wheel warm  
under his palm. Highway  
ribbons asphalt black through  
the fall forest. Dappled. Red-  
and gold-stained evening  
treetops sway and  
loose leaves swirl away  
as Baby blasts  
west  
and north  
and west and west and west

_what’s going on_

Sam’s in a library,  
probably, face in a  
book instead of some  
coed’s crotch. Hair  
past his shoulders, maybe.  
Sam could have beer gut.  
Sharp smirk. Sam could be soft.

_something big is starting to happen_

Pit stop. Fill all the tanks  
and drain the pee one.  
Costumed kids laugh-squeal at  
witches, ghouls, and zombies.  
Hard swallow, hot coal.

_all in danger_

Envy of innocence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *title nicked from Zeppelin


	3. Outside the window

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: pre-series gen, mild angst  
> Prompt: Bobby

John’s boys slap-fight in the dirt  
out by the main garage.  
Dean torments,  
but Sam gets his—  
kid’s slippery, quick, ain’t  
above fightin’ dirty—  
and goin’ by Dean’s  
reactions, he’s proud of it.

Mouthful of burnt coffee.

Even when they play, they train.

Wince.

Karen’d throw a fit.

Dump the cup.

John ain’t a bad man, just broken—  
’bout like everybody else in this business.

Pour out the pot.

Them boys, though…

Eyes on the yard.

Shadows follow Sam, pass over his eyes  
when he thinks there ain’t nobody lookin’.  
Dean’s ten pounds of trauma in a five-pound bag.

Deep sigh.

Least they got each other.  
How much worse, if they  
both hadn’ta got  
outta that housefire?


	4. False Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tagged: Wincest-lite  
> Prompt: Dean in the morning

Layin low, musty mobile home, Dean peels open  
one pasty eye. Beer bladder, neck crick, charley horse,  
and he oughta get up, walk it off, shake it loose—

Armload of little brother, tickle of  
coconut shampoo, noseful of nape hair  
and a slow lub-dub under his palm. Sweat-  
slick, where they’re skin-to-skin and the cobalt  
sky outside shines, lights Sam’s shoulder-neck line.

Sam stirs. Dean squeezes. Breathes him in and  
lets his eyes slide closed. Morning can stow it.


	5. Watching Sam watch the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tagged: Sam and Dean gen, stargazing  
> Prompt: Dean's favorite things

No-man’s-land by a river’s edge.  
Warm engine and cooler beer,  
starbright sky, cherry pie,  
Classic Hits pourin soft-  
staticky from the speakers.  
Water gurgles. Fish splash.  
Sam tilts up, stretches his neck.  
Wheels turn behind midnight eyes  
clockin constellations.


	6. Roadside Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tagged: Explicit Wincest  
> Prompt: Something Wicked (S1e18)  
> [Part 1 here (Chapter 1 of this collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465539/chapters/56254717))

Sam jostled.

_hey_

Jaws flexed on grit teeth. Sam nosed Dean’s shoulder.

 _say the word  
_he lied,  
_and we’ll forget this ever happened_

Heartbeats.

Dean chin-jerked, body bowstrung. Hips kicked, lifted  
and Sam jammed a hand down, dragged Dean out. Choked groan.  
Sam stroked, pumped a sticky fist, dug his freehand  
fingers in his brother’s bicep. Dean rocked, eyes  
squeezed, forehead twisted. Sam eased, pace and pressure,  
fondled circles. Scratched and teased. Sweat beaded—top  
lip, temple—trickled down Sam’s back. Dean tremored.

_please dean let me see you_

Sam begged. Torqued and tightened. Thumbed Dean’s wet  
slit, smeared slick; Sam flicked, twisted his wrist,  
kissed under Dean’s ear, stripped his dick.

Dean shouted, shot up his shirt. Mouth wide,  
cheeks flushed, eyes cinched shut. Sam jacked fast, coaxed  
blast on blast of aftershock as Dean  
shook next to him, spilled on him, came for him.

_sammy_

Dean said again, and suddenly Sam’s pinched  
hardon seized his attention. Wet hand went  
to his belt and Dean smacked it away.

_no i  
_

Sam’s head fell back. Dean barely got him out of his  
shorts before he blew all over, fucked Dean’s fist and  
cried his name. Sam quaked. Broke loose. Smashed his mouth  
on Dean’s, pushed between his teeth. Hung on Dean’s lips,  
drank in his touches and finally, kissed Dean’s jaw hinge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know? maybe this has earned a part three, a little fluffy aftercare. pray to the muses, friends.


	7. Small Consolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tagged: brotherly love  
> Prompt: Heart (S2e17)

Eyes like coins in a fountain angle up.  
Lashes fan; forehead folds. Sawblade plea.

Palm Sam’s cheek.  
 _Listen._  
Tow his face close.  
 _I got no... absolution to give you,_  
 _man, but you’re stuck with me._ Bump noses.  
 _Ass-stubbornly loyal, it’s a superpower._

Dimples break, sun-slash through stormclouds.

 _We’re gonna figure it out, okay?_  
Tuck him under.  
 _You and me._  
Chin his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _💜 this one’s for[Nisaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki) 💜_


	8. Debrief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tagged: Gen, episode coda: Hibbing 911 (s10e08)  
> Prompt: Donna

Vampires.

Farmland flies outside  
her window, phone  
poles like fence posts.

Rubber-duckin’ vampires!

Dean pretends he’s not  
watching her for a  
meltdown in the rearview.

Can’t hardly blame him.

Hands flex, sense memory:  
blade grabbing on gristle  
and bone, hot splash and a  
crumpled corpse. Hakuna  
Matata, lady—where’d  
that even come from?  
Sweaty palms on her jeans.

Jody leans, squeezes  
her knee. Something about  
saving their asses and

Damn straight, Dean adds.

But for real—  
Sam twists in the seat—  
you two call us in, any time.

Streetlights strobe. Sam’s lips  
quirk. Wet, wide eyes and  
no cold killer ought  
to radiate  
trust-me like that.

Jody starts, Sam Winchester…

and Dean breaks in, Not that  
you two can’t handle yourselves.

and Donna sinks into their banter.

Geez, Sammy, they’re trained  
law enforcement  
professionals;  
show some respect!

Eyes close.


	9. Aural

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tagged: Explicit Wincest, outsider pov, voyeurism (with accompanying consent issues), abuse of onomatopoeia  
> Prompts: Crowley, incantation

Stone bowl. Pestle in nightshade, myrrh,   
mistletoe. Owl’s eye, infant’s blood   
and a struck match. Acrid black.   
Breathe through a pocket silk, chant.

Call upon night wings, moonlit shadows.  
Call upon stone, for walls that talk…

And underneath Dean’s mattress, tucked there   
while he lay in state, a coin comes to life. 

_—sus Christ, Sam, your hands are freezing!_

Dean. Clear as if he’s in the room.

_Well, quit your bitchin’ and warm ’em up._

_Oh, I’ll warm somethin’ up—_

Scuffle…

_Why don’t you—_

Thumps and grunts.

_Let me—_

Crash!

_Wow, Sammy, hard already.  
_

Licked-lip smirk. Sam moans. Shuffling.   
Belt buckles clatter the floor.   
Whispers of filth, slide of a drawer—

_Come on. Come on._

Thuds.

_So pretty on your knees for me._

Might be Sam sucking Dean’s cock. Mouth   
wedged wide, teary-eyed, bending that   
bite-able neck. Might be Dean   
stretching him. Filling his bottom   
with fingers, making Sam slick. 

_God you feel good._

Might be Dean already fucking him.

_I wanna… Come here, come here. Like…_

_Don’t hurt yourself._

_Blow me._

_Just did._

Rattling. Something squeaks and Sam chokes,

_God, you’re deep like this._

Dean grunts.

 _Fuck me,_  
Sam breathes,  
 _make me come._

Sam yelps. Screeching furniture  
and slapping skin. Ramps fast.  
Dean growls while Sam pants.

_Dean, stop._

_What, Sammy, you okay?_

_Yeah. I…_

Swish.

_What is this?_

Whoosh-thunk!

 _Lemme see—_  
Dean says, and,  
 _Oh-ho-ho, Crowley, you dick._

Uh-oh.

_Crowley?_

_We’ve seen a coin like this before,_   
_you remember? It’s a bug._

Blast!

_That dick!_

_That’s what I said!_

_I’ll get the salt,_  
Sam says, and,  
 _Hope you enjoyed the show._

_Dick!_

Struck match.

Signal drops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to B for always having my back!


	10. Shotgun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: G  
> Tagged: Wincest lite, Pining Sam  
> Prompt: I’ll be honest, y’all, a haiku got way outta hand here :p

Dean fills the car up with gas in a  
downpour. Ducked inside Dad’s jacket, hunched  
against windblown, horizontal sheets.

Rain beads, rear glass streaks but Sam imagines:

Dean’s tee clings, hair soaks, wet tufts drip,  
eyelashes bunch and one clear drop  
dangles like dew off Dean’s nose.

License plate thunks and Dean’s door creaks. He  
cusses, shivers. Cranks the engine and  
Mötley Crüe. Sam sneaks peeks, dark drenched jeans,  
glistening, waterfalls in miniature  
— _kickstart my heart_ —  
slide down the side of Dean’s neck.

Wheels turn, miles burn. Sam’s breath fogs  
the window when he rests his head.

Dean slaps his thigh.  
_Yeah, get some sleep. We got a haul…_

Heat lingers, long beyond the sting.


	11. Dirty Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: Explicit  
> Tagged: fantasy Wincest, masturbation, mild scent kink  
> Prompt: Sam in Dean’s clothes (h/t [bitchfacebrothers](https://bitchfacebrothers.tumblr.com/post/614463365059936256/we-have-always-been-different-but-sam-wearing))
> 
> *waves to [WetSammyWinchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester)* Happy birthday!

Soft flannel rustles, rides   
around Sam’s shoulders, whispers   
over knuckles, settles   
on his neck. Head tilts,   
Sam cheeks the collar. Breathes   
in Dean: smoke-whiskey and   
pool-hall sweat. Sam smooths   
the fabric down his ribs,   
his hips. Undone. Button   
columns flank his sternum,   
abs. Shirt tails trail, tickle   
the tops of his thighs. 

Dick sticks out, bobs with his   
pulse. He handles, lifts his   
balls, scratches behind. Fingers   
skate his vein, swirl at his   
head. Fondling, Sam turns   
for the bed. Starts on his knees—  
feathery friction   
can’t substitute for   
Dean, in the flesh, but—  
Dean’s shirt, wraps around   
and holds what Dean won’t.

Closed fist. Shirt rides up and   
he smells Dean, pictures him   
busting in. Thought of a   
slack jaw, dark eyes, _Fuck, Sam_.   
Twisting, moaning soft,   
Sam bucks and squeezes. 

Shaky thighs. Sam flips. Flat   
on his back, mixed spit,   
precome slick and Sam strokes quick,   
blurred fist as heat and wet   
and spark and thunder.   
Goosebumps, shirt bunched under   
and Sam torques, nose in Dean’s   
collar, inhales and salt and   
iron, motel soap and   
road dust, diner dinner,   
motor oil and gun oil,   
spray paint, blood and home.

Sam yells. Scalds his belly,   
soaks his hand, jerks ’til he’s   
sore and sensitized;   
abs ache from clenching.


	12. Past Bedtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tagged: pre-series, angst, brother bond  
> Prompt: John

Changing screaming   
Sammy’s diaper,   
vanity counter, cheap   
motel some charity’s   
putting them up in. 

John’s forearm drapes   
Sammy’s tummy—  
kicking, squirming—  
juggling shitty diaper,  
washcloth, ointment,  
baby powder, and a  
box of Luvs Mike’s   
wife brought by.

 _Sammy, please hold still._  
Swallowing glass. 

Mirror glance:  
twenty years older   
than he looked  
ten days ago.  
John’s eyes squeeze;   
he breathes deep.   
Sammy wails and—

_Shh, Sammy._

Tubby toddler fingers   
clutch Sammy’s heel.

_It’s okay._

_Dean?_

Hasn’t spoken  
a word. Not since…

Sammy settles.  
John grits teeth.   
Silence, taping   
tabs in place; tears   
streak his cheeks but   
he marches. 

Tucks his sons in.   
Turns the lights out. 

Tiny bathroom, John   
breaks down by himself. 


	13. Sex Ed in the South

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tagged: underage pining, preseries  
> Unprompted

Sometimes, teachers send around a  
piece of tape, and everybody  
has to stick it to their sleeve, or  
their blue jeans, and then peel it off  
and pass it on, and at the end,  
they always compare the tape  
( _soiled_ and _loose_ )  
to a girl—always a girl—who  
 _debased herself_ , which Sam finds  
unfair, for as _loose_ as he might  
find some of Dean’s dates these days…

Fresh-showered, Dean torments him. Bare  
chested in black boxer briefs, hair  
clumped and dripping. Sam swallows, sick  
churning want to trace that curved back,  
palm Dean’s thighs, kiss his freckles. Dean  
drags a towel across his face; Sam stares.

One water drop breaks free from the  
dip between Dean’s collarbones. Glints  
a path down his sternum, scatters  
in the hair there. Pubes peek, damp dark  
cotton clings, and even flaccid Dean  
lays long toward his hip. Bowlegs, fuck  
and Sam wants to lick up in between.

Dean speaks. Sam ducks away  
before he’s caught outright.

_Yo, Earth to Sam…_

_Yes, Dean. I heard you. ‘Don’t wait up.’_

Dean flinches.

Sam digs out clean clothes. Dean loops his amulet  
around his neck, tugs on a t-shirt.

_Order a pizza and a pay-per-view, man; live a little._

He’s Teflon. In the endless  
shitstorm: Dad and hunting and  
revenge and lousy food and  
sleazy motels. Killing,  
always moving. People dying…

_Don’t do anything stupid._

Sam’s that tape, so crud-caked it  
won’t even stick anymore.

_Sammy, I’m a professional._

Dean stays clean.

_Professional what?_

Sam eyerolls, slams the bathroom  
door. Doesn’t watch Dean leave.


	14. Predators

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: Gen  
> Prompt: Case poem

Full moon. Four feet creep,  
feather-quiet, cross the forest floor.  
Crackling nerves, peeled eyes and ears—

Boot prints, broken branches, glaring trail.  
One brother bumps the other.  
 _Hey. Does this seem too easy to you?  
_ _Like. These tracks—_

Muzzle flash. Hunters spring their trap.  
 _Told you, Sammy._  
Blood pours black. Slide racks back.  
 _Werewolfs is so stupid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to [crowroad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowroad/pseuds/crowroad), who maybe invented the case poem?


	15. Exposé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Wincest  
> Rated: Mature  
> Tagged: consensual exhibition/voyeurism, masturbation
> 
> Sequel-ish companion to [Dirty Clothes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465539/chapters/56624047) (Chapter 11 in this collection)

He bullied Sam into giving up his secret kink,  
and once he’d scraped his jaw up off the floor,  
Dean said,  
_Oh, we’re fuckin’ doin’ that right now._

and Sam blushed his most lickable pink.

 _I ain’t kiddin’. Strip. Chop-chop.  
_And he peeled his flannel off.  
_C’mon, Sammy, y’know ya want this.  
_Flourished,  
and Sam flashed dimples, bit his lip  
and let that hair flop in his face,  
and Dean got stiff.  
_I’ll tear those clothes off with my teeth—_

Sam’s arms crossed and he gripped,  
lifted his hem. Hipbones, happy trail,  
obliques, armpits and nipples  
and abs like Dean ain’t never had.  
Tattoo, shadow below his collarbone  
and Sam’s neck…

Head popped through,  
shaggy. Hair went everywhere  
and Dean eyed Sam’s fly. Showy sigh,  
but Sam thumbed his button,  
dragged out dragging his zipper down.  
Flashed cotton boxers, pale blue plaid  
and he thumb-hooked, dropped it all  
in one, sweet, smooth, swoosh.

Dean tossed the shirt.

~tbc~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, _rude!_ Stay tuned…


	16. Exposé (conclusion)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Wincest  
> Rated: Explicit  
> Tagged: consensual voyeurism/exhibitionism, masturbation
> 
> Conclusion to [Exposé](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465539/chapters/56826715), but works on its own

Kid coulda been a stripper.

Lithe and liquid-limbed, Sam lifted hands.  
Sleeves slid over his arms. Rolled shoulders,  
bent neck, Sam breathed in. Eyes fluttered as  
he nuzzled the collar. Dean hummed. Leaned  
back in his squeaky desk chair, folded  
hands behind his head and Sam hesitated,  
hid a red-stained face with a ducked chin.

 _Now you’re gonna get bashful on me?  
_ Dean teased.

Sam scowled, low-heat.

_C’mon, dude—_

On his knees. On the bed.  
Dean damn near swallowed his tongue.  
Sam bent, shirttail rode up, balls swayed.  
Big feet hung off the edge  
and Sam arched, showed Dean everything.

 _Tell me what you think about.  
_ Dean breathed.

And a muffled,   
_You, idiot._

Dean took his dick out. 

Sam spit, closed his fist, hissed.  
 _Think about you behind me.  
_ Ass cheeks clenched.  
 _All over me. Inside me._

Dean groaned. Matched Sam’s movements, met his  
pace. Sam jerked brutal, quick; thighs quaked and  
Sam flipped. Craned to cram his face in  
crumpled cotton, stripped his dick.  
Sweat sheen sprang up; Sam’s eyes squeezed shut.

Dean’s name on Sam’s lips  
set him spinning, spilling; chair  
screaming and Dean swearing. Sam  
shot halfway up his chest, arced off  
the mattress, humped his hand.  
Dean slumped back, stroked and stared   
while Sam shook, aftershocked—  
shiny, slick, and flushed.

Dean pounced.   
_Ho-ly shit.  
_ Gripped Sam’s chin, blanketed him.

 _You got any other  
_ _kinks I don’t know about?_

Dimples and chewed lip

Dean kissed.  
 _’Cause I gotta say, Sammy.  
_ Tongues slipped.  
 _You’re a genius._


	17. Hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: Gen  
> Tagged: angst, implied wincest (if you choose)  
> Prompt: first case after Sam left for Stanford

Dean picked glass out of the booze-soaked   
carpet. Packed his duffle. Left   
Sam’s acceptance letter and   
the full-ride scholarship award   
on the table where Sam dropped them. 

Dad called. Said to meet him in   
Ottumwa, city library.   
Dean choked on acid, even   
though he’d known they wouldn’t   
stay one more minute in   
the last place him and Sam…

Trunk slammed. Dean climbed creaky   
porch steps, ran a last trash pass.   
Stanford University  
seal glared off heavy tri-fold, red-  
round as a fresh shiner. Dean   
hesitated. Sam’s real name   
on those papers, rough location…

Dean scooped them up. Slipped them in   
his inside jacket pocket,   
vowed he’d burn them later.


	18. Cure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: Gen  
> Tagged: S1e01, pining!Dean, Wincest lite  
> Prompt: Sam’s first case back
> 
> Companion to [Hangover](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465539/chapters/56910286) (and now that I think of it, [Going to California](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465539/chapters/56254969) kinda fits here too)

They snaked down the Pacific Coast   
Highway while the sun sneaked over   
the mountains. Sky stained pink and the   
ocean writhed and shined like scattered glitter. 

Heavy tri-fold telltale   
scarlet fuckin letter   
in his duffle. Doubled   
over. Finger-soft   
with crumpled corners… 

Sam snored, wadded-up t-shirt   
pillow, propped on the shotgun   
window. Mouth hung open,   
red and wet. Sam’s pale neck stretched.

Dean clenched, white on the wheel.   
Ached to knuckle down Sam’s   
jaw, brush his hair back. Kiss   
his forehead, temples, eyes… 

Mind on the road—  
Dean swallowed  
—on the case and   
on Dad’s message.

_ Be very careful, Dean. _

Yeah, no shit.  
Sam shifted. Slipped his hips   
low in the seat and flopped his   
long, long legs wide. 

Dean floored it.

  
  



	19. Buried

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: Explicit   
> Tagged: wincest, pwp, syllabic poem  
> Unprompted 

Hand in Sam’s hair, other bruise-tight at his   
hip. On his knees, arm braced on the headboard,   
taking it oh, so, sweet. Sweat springs, gleams and   
beads. Filth spills through grit teeth. Sam huffs, breath fucked   
out. Back snakes, oscillates, and they surge. Spark   
into each other again and again.


	20. The best laid...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: Teen  
> Tagged: Wincest, fantasizing  
> Prompt: [Do Not Disturb](https://66.media.tumblr.com/fc297ad3b1bbec070a923176f2c6e899/804a88f4b98157c7-8a/s2048x3072/966d829ee8afcb2a3888d43441c3e266560fc54e.png)  
>  _([original post](https://chesterbennington.co.vu/post/615288543839928320/prayedtoyou-moments-from-provenance-0119), h/t chesterbennington)_

Sammy got banged up,  
bailing a bunch of civvies  
out of a djinn’s nest,  
and Dean’s been stuck  
jerking off in  
a sock ever since.

He sips sweet black scalding  
coffee, marks Sam’s movements.  
No groans, major winces,  
wolfing down eggs and fruit  
and toast. Blue-bruised hands  
cradle his paper cup.  
Split lip, lingering swelling.

Sam sways to his feet.

_I’m going for a run._

And if he’s in that good a shape… 

Dean showers, shaves.  
Slips into soft pants, plans:

He’ll ambush Sam. Nudge him  
up against the door. Part  
his lips and legs and grope  
under his shirt, inventory  
tender spots. Take two  
handfuls, windblown bedhead,  
bare Sam’s neck and hickey  
up the salt collected there. 

Drag Sam to bed. Soak up  
his sounds. Spread him out and  
kiss him everywhere he’s sore.  
Grin when he catches on, catch  
his eye-roll, short-circuit  
that smart mouth raking  
teeth along his hipbones. 

Dean’s gonna—

Doorknob twists; Sam’s  
shadow stretches.

 _I’m hitting the shower._  
Sam shakes out sweaty hair.  
 _You’re invited._

Dean’s on board with that plan!


	21. Sanguine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: Teen  
> Tagged: wincest, first-time aftermath  
> Prompt: [This red bed](https://sunflowersamxx.tumblr.com/post/189560359709) (a SFW image, h/t sunflowersamxx)
> 
> [AmyPond45](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPond45/pseuds/AmyPond45) has a birthday today! This one’s for you, bb. <3

Queen of Hearts Casino Hotel curtains   
leak. Neon bleeds, stains the sheets   
and Dean walks tracks in the crappy   
carpet. Pipes scream. Clatter of the   
ice machine; Sam’s scent lingers—

_on his knees_   
_damp-lashed_   
_wide-pupiled plea_

—dark and sweet. Dean damns himself for   
weak and the water cuts off; hinges squeak.   
Sam steps out. Towel, not-tied around   
his hips, twists in his fist and he steams,   
vaporizing heat. Skin sheens, pink-scrubbed   
and red-lit. Ducked head, dimple-pitted cheeks.

Dean folds like a cheap chair. Waylays   
Sam—lips, fingertips and teeth, backs   
him up against the sink and rakes   
down Sam’s neck. Sam grunts muffled; towel   
sighs to the floor and Dean heaves him   
off the counter. Thighs squeeze, Dean spins.   
Settles Sam in cherry-soda   
cotton, hottest thing he’s ever seen.


	22. Sharks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: Gen  
> Tagged: Bunkerfic, DeanCave got a upgrade, outsider POV  
> Prompt: pool hall, Claire

_—show you some moves, eh, kid?_

Claire takes her cue.

 _—hustlin’ for our supper since Sammy_  
 _could see over the table._  
Dean racks. 

_—physics and geometry._  
Sam pronounces.

_—pff, slop and English._

Sam breaks. Sharp-crack contact, colors   
scatter. He sinks two, circles smooth,   
chalk block tiny in his fingers. 

_—four, far corner._  
Shot smacks home. 

Dean beams.  
 _—taught him everything he knows._

Sam draws soft, rides rails, hits banks. Runs  
the table while Dean commentates.

 _And the most important thing—_  
Dean’s sternest face.  
 _—y’gotta make ’em_   
_believe they can still win._

Sam breaks in.  
 _—for some one-on-one?_

_—oh, you’re on!_

Sam scares up a real-life fucking   
abacus from somewhere. Dean rubs   
chalk, puffs dust. Stakes are laundry   
detail and the game is straight pool.

Claire drinks Dean’s beer. Lounges in his   
shitbrown La-Z-Boy, watches them work. 

Not bad for two old dorks.


	23. Hash House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: G  
> Tagged: beautiful Sam  
> Unprompted

Dean digs diner counters  
when they don’t have to talk  
shop. Knocked knees, easy elbows,  
brushed shoulders and stolen stares.

Pickin’ at a chicken  
salad, tappin’ laptop  
keys. Sunset backlights  
Sam’s profile, glares off  
parked cars, low-rent halo.

Shotgun.  
Dean’s right-hand-man.


	24. Low-beams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: Gen  
> Tagged: case poem, salt-and-burn  
> Prompt: April 24, Baby’s birthday (it kinda traveled)

Moon climbs. Overgrown and   
unremembered yard of   
a long-burned church, two shovel   
points punch through packed,   
weed-choked grave-dirt.   
Headlights throw shadows.   
Brothers bump and bicker.   
Pit sinks deeper. Knees and   
elbows, shoulders sink from sight.

Crowbars and cans, rocksalt and gas.   
Mud-caked jeans and blistered hands.   
Sam points. Dean’s breath steams—

Wind whips up, twigs   
leaves and dust as the  
brothers shout, shield   
faces and a   
pale apparition   
knocks Sam flat.

 _Sammy!_  
Sawed-off blast! 

Specter scatters,   
Sam scrambles, Dean swings   
iron. Spirit fritzes,   
harries him out of the   
headlight cones, trips him up   
on a shadowed gravestone.   
Crowbar clatters. 

_Hang on!_

Sam sprints, pops the glove box.   
Backup, backup Zippo   
drops in his palm.

Flick-click!

Wwhhoosshh!

Ghost screams…

Blaze in the rearview,   
911 on a burner phone and   
rubber-on-road. Zeppelin   
up loud, windows rolled down.   
Baby roars.


	25. Rawheaded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: G  
> Tagged: angst  
> Prompt: Faith: S1e12, h/t [samshinechester](https://samshinechester.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you for the prompt, bb! ^_^

Dean breathes labored, bundled in—  
Sam chokes  
—the bed closest to the door.

_Nothin’ else, I’ll be a meat shield._  
He’d wallered in.  
 _I’m a dead man walkin’ anyway…_

Sam runs down names—  
‘Holly Connor,’   
scrawled with, ‘Amarillo’   
sideways up a   
journal margin. 

Half Dad’s contacts hang up   
at the word Winchester. 

Half the rest,  
 _Well, your old man can rot in Hell,_  
 _but your brother’s a good kid._

Dean stirs. Chin turns over   
his shoulder. Wrinkled   
forehead. Ash skin, glass eyes.   
_You better be buyin’ me strippers._

Sam’s teeth grind.   
_You’re gonna be fine._

Up on his elbows, jaw-drawn pain.  
 _Look. I appreciate the_  
 _vote of confidence but, I_  
 _got a bum ticker here says—_

Sam storms out. Phone and his   
latest list of prospects.

_Hey-yo, Sam?_

Pause. Four-inch door crack   
leaks light on the carpet.

_Seriously. Strippers._

Sam slams it.


	26. Drench

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: G  
> Tagged: case poem(ish), wincest, kissing  
> Unprompted

Right eye throbs, surefire   
shiner. Gray day after   
a damp night dogging   
a dullaghan through a   
pine forest. Bloodied and   
bone-bruised, tired.   
Trudging thick through muddy   
underbrush. Highway up   
ahead, hash and home. 

Breeze lifts, leaves flip, underside-  
up. Intermittent blinding   
lightning, thunder bellows,   
shrinking intervals. Drizzle   
patters in the canopy. 

They break tree line just as the   
clouds split. Torrents. Blue forks streak.   
Two-hundred-yard dash—  
Sneakers squish and splash   
unpainted asphalt. Flannel flaps,   
saturated. Shivers, little rivers   
popping goosebumps down their necks.

Puddled blacktop skidding.   
Slide-and-sitting. Dean bitching.   
Dripping all over his   
seats. Sam seizes his cheeks,   
tows him in, kisses him.


	27. Volatile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: E  
> Tagged: wincest, scent kink, reverse chronology   
> Unprompted

Gets him every time, slick-  
gripping heat when he sinks   
inside Sam. Sick-sweet stink,   
fruity lube—slim pickings   
in the Bible belt.

He’s got a nose for his brother,   
what can he tell ya?

*

Fresh-drip out the shower,   
water plopping on the rug.   
Sam glimmers, soap-sharp   
scented, steaming.

Drag Sam to bed. Lick drops   
off collarbones, tongue up   
Sam’s neck. Sniff shampoo—  
some dippy Earth Day   
sandalwood concoction—  
taste trace green Listerine and   
eat his mouth out ’til it’s gone.

*

Post-run. Sweat-salt-grit,   
crystal dirty. Half-moon   
underarms, arrowhead   
back. Hair curled humid.   
Drenched temples. Neck stretched   
long, working while he   
guzzles Gatorade.   
Broomstick waist. Shimmery   
track pants low, belly shows.

Lick lips. Because Sam smells   
like lightning striking wet dirt   
and grave smoke. Brown sugar-  
caramel citrus, old books’ sweet   
decay. Yesterday’s aftershave.

Up against the wall. Sam grunts,   
gripes how he’s gross, how Dean’s gross,   
but Sam sighs in his neck crook   
when he nips around Sam’s   
ear, rocks on his thigh where it’s   
jammed in between Sam’s legs.

Sam fights back. Sinks teeth   
in his lip and backwalks   
him, willing-eagerly,   
towards the bathroom.   
Dimpled grin. Sam slips   
his grip, quick-strips.   
Mouthwatering. 


	28. Bangin’ Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: E  
> Tagged: wincest, episode coda, jealousy, first time since Hell, rough sex  
> Prompt: Episode 4x14, Sex and Violence

Bangin’ monsters,   
Dean had said,   
like he could talk. 

TV blared. 

Sam stared down his   
reflection. Bathroom   
light spilt sideways,   
cast his face in   
half-shadow.   
Last swallow   
off Ruby's flask   
clung copper   
to his tongue. 

Dean laughed loud at the   
flickering screen.  
mouthful of pizza

Sam stalked over.   
Snatched the remote and   
drowned them in near-dark.

Dean cussed. Cradled   
his shoulder while   
Sam crawled in his   
bed, climbed in his   
lap. Eyes wide, white   
showed all around   
Dean’s slivered green.   
Slackjawed. Thrumming   
like a bowstring. 

_wasn’t some bitch_   
_in a g-string_

He laid fingers   
on Sam’s mouth,   
wordless pleading. 

_it was you_

Sam didn’t promise.   
Pulled them out and   
lined them up and   
jerked rough. Artless,   
no finesse.   
Dean dug finger   
bruises in Sam’s hips. 

Simmering, sweat   
shimmering up   
Dean’s chest,   
slipping down   
Sam's spine.   
Slicking in between. 

Dean flipped them.   
Brutal hand   
in Sam’s hair;   
Sam showed throat.   
Dean bit.   
Fucked Sam’s fist,   
spouted filth   
through gritted teeth. 

Sam hooked legs around;   
Dean bounced. Drove Sam   
crooked-necked   
against the headboard. 

_you’re too weak_

Sam hadn’t meant it. 

_hold me back_

Was like Ruby talking.

He gripped tighter.   
Dean hissed, nipped Sam’s   
lip and raked his   
tongue in the cut.   
Sam groaned. Begged and   
babbled. Tumbled   
over, supernova,   
spurted scalding   
up his belly   
and Dean’s shirt.

Sam shook, dug nails   
in Dean’s back.   
Hung off him.   
Dean growled his   
orgasm into   
Sam’s mouth. 

Pulses settled slow. 

_are we really?_

Sam didn’t ask,

_good?_

Dean slid off, straight   
to the shower.


	29. Battery and Assault

_I’m not all right…_

Crash. Shattering glass. Sam   
one-eighties, dashes back—

Bang. Dean drops a full-arm   
crowbar shot to the trunk lid.   
Sam flinches. Hits in his ribs.

Rip. Crowbar tip slams through;   
Dean heaves it free, leaves a   
gaping, ragged hole. Glares   
hot enough to weld it back shut.   
Sam’s lungs seize. Clench in his guts.  
  
Clatter. Iron on concrete.   
Dean’s broad back bows. 

_…but neither are you._


	30. Midway (linked)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated: G  
> Tagged: wincest, underage kissing, absolute tooth-rotting fluff, prose poem, (allegedly and aspirationally)  
> Prompt: Kansas

I liked this one enough, and it was long enough, to post as a separate fic. **[You can find it here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23930929) **:)

And as long as I have this window open...

I started to make a list of all the people who have made this April possible, and it quickly became enormous because y'all have really my back! :')

So. If you're reading this, thank you. 

♥


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